The planet is Trine, but there are countries in trouble. Portia and InterLand border each other even as the year, 1199, meant the time of changes would alter everything. Taking to clothes wearing would be a dangerous game, but then Langland's lover had disappeared. Court politics worsened even as Langland tried to apply his brilliant mind. But "changes" were imminent, and on the cusp of this new century, fates and destinies would be determined until the heretical prince could be tamed. But science and poetry merged. How would the world recover?
Langland was in his laboratory which was attached to his office by going through a sealed hatch that then would require a retinal scan, voice print, and then handprint verification. He was currently assembling the various wormholes he was studying into groups according to where in the universe they led. He also often used a viewing globe in order to determine more precisely where one would arrive, since there may be a need for space gear if the actual planet was missed, and even just one degree’s inaccuracy could create the errata. His complex calculations showed on the viewing screen of the supercomputer, using a form of Boolean logic, calculus, and Heisenberg probabilities. These mathematics had only recently been discovered, as the scope of his society’s technological achievements were starting to multiply geometrically. He realized more and more that complexity wasn’t wanted. A certain Law of Simplicity was emerging that was streamlining not only his own scientific activities but schematizing society with a border consciousness that was upwardly moving so fast that people were beginning to suffer a kind of anxiety. Langland felt it too. But, in his more advanced intelligence, he could see that what was actually happening was the merging of Poetry with Science in a very subtle complex blend that would revolutionize Intellect itself toward a sacrality that no one had ever seen before. But this was 1199. It had been forty years since the Hatching Wars, and turns of centuries always heightened what inevitably were breaks in progress. The helical structure of history produced a constant move toward Utopia, something that was vexing and enervating at the same time. The breach of undulating pasts were always, almost infinitely rupturing into their present as if the memory machine of the collective gods wanted to lavish an orbital arc upon his corporeal creatures, yoking the next world with this one.
Langland preferred to avoid the dangerous waters of religious speculation. Cults of a kind had always been emerging in a sort of time dysfunction movement that over layered what everyone thought was a “present” when the actual energizing moment of capitulation into the fall of the unknown, folded time in upon itself and people wandered the caverns of reality ignorantly unaware that past, present, future were ultimately illusory concepts their brain wiring wanted to make real, but the Oversoul conflated All into One. Langland marveled at his own insight. Indeed, he had been awarded the highest IQ award when he was only seven, and now he had the reputation for being the smartest being on the planet. But then the intercom dinged.
“Yes?” Langland said to no one actually since microphones was embedded all over his lab just in case he needed to be reached and he was nowhere near a communication device.
“Hairy Concline here to see you.”
“God. He’s half an hour early. Really, Considine. You know how I value my time. Some of these instabilities quotients need working out. Well, that’s all right. I suppose I could put everything in stasis until I return from my duties. Tell Hairy that I’ll be there in just a moment.”